


Father Colbert

by Gottaloveoliver



Category: The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Priest Stephen, Smut, idk what to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gottaloveoliver/pseuds/Gottaloveoliver
Summary: Priest Stephen. That’s it.
Relationships: Stephen Colbert/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Father Colbert

**Author's Note:**

> Priest stephen is kinda hot 😳

Guilt. That’s all you were capable of feeling. This is wrong. So, so wrong. You never went to church with the intention of fantasizing about the priest, let alone a family friend. Yet, here you were, soaking wet whilst sitting next to your parents, who were completely oblivious as to what was going on underneath your dress. 

You’d met him at a business dinner your father had dragged you to, and you fell for him. Hard. His name was Stephen, though you addressed him as Father Colbert. He had silky, dark hair, peppered with hints of gray, and a profound, but gentle voice that never failed to make you warm inside. 

When Mass is over Father Colbert goes into the confessional awaiting the sinners. You stay seated in your spot in the pew. Watching the people as they go in and shortly come back out. Working up the courage to be the next. 

Never had you confessed. Walked into the confessional and laid out of your sins for the priest to reconcile you of them. You Never felt the need, no matter how much your parents insisted that you keep the tradition growing up. But now; now you feel the need to walk into that confessional with much less than pure intentions. 

Instead of giving yourself any more time to overthink it you push yourself up off of the seat. Let the Holy Ghost give you spirit and guide your heavy leaded legs to the confessional. Standing in front of the open confessional door you wish it didn’t look so righteous. Old-fashioned, red oak with intricately carved patterns that makes it look all the more holy. 

The partition slides open and you do a short prayer, touching your head and shoulders in the motion of a cross. 

“Good afternoon, Father Colbert.” 

“Good afternoon.”

You sigh and just get right into it. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have… never confessed before.”

“Go on, my Child.”

‘I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Getting down on my knees not to pray, but to stuff my mouth full of your cock–’ Is not what you say.

“I- I have been having… unchaste, invasive fantasies about a man, Father.”

As it turns out, you can still see him, the mass of his body. Covered from neck to toe in black. It makes you self-conscious, dropping your gaze, you instead look at your tightly woven fingers, balled into a fist in your lap. 

“Invasive?” He questions. “Have they been interrupting your day to day life?”

“Somewhat”

He hums, shifts in his seat. You can’t exactly see it, but you swear he’s sitting back, getting settled in. 

“My Child, are these fantasies– immoral, unethical?” So nonchalant the tone in which he talks, unprofessional. Makes you feel as if you’re having a conversation versus a purge of your sins. 

“Without a doubt, Father.”

“Is he taken, married? What makes your daydreams about this man so immoral?” 

You laugh nervously, just now realizing how increasingly crazy this is. Can’t believe that the words keep flowing from your mouth. 

“In a sense, yes, I guess he’s taken.” You gulped, “and he is a friend of my Father’s.”

Your stomach churns with anxiety. But you want this. You want to tell him, you want him to know. Heart racing so fast you can feel it beating in your ears. Your breathing is so heavy and loud, Father Colbert must hear it. Whining a little you lick your lips, swallow to try and bring some moisture back into your mouth. 

“He is taken by the church, Father… a man of God.” 

Father Colbert falls silent, for much longer than is comfortable for you. You’re suddenly afraid that you’ve made a grave mistake. Being a man with a tactical background he must be able to connect the dots. Judge from your nervousness that you are speaking about him, even if you haven’t explicitly said it. Besides, there is no other man in this church that even comes close to his rugged good looks.

Giving in, you break the silence. “Father, I am so– so sorry. I will just… take my sins and leave-” 

“No, no,” he says. Shifts in his seat again. This time sitting forward. “Sit, stay.”

“Tell me… in detail, one of these fantasies; so that I may better understand. Then I can feel confident in giving you your penance,” he says with cool, a-matter-of-fact authority, and lilt of cheekiness. 

Your face is radiating heat. You’ve had dozens of them, and now when you’re asked to recall one, you can’t seem to bring one to mind. Taking a deep whiff of his cologne, it helps this time, clarifying you instead of mucking up your brain. 

“I have this fantasy where… I take a volunteer job here. It’s good for college credits, is at least what I tell myself. I’m dusting the antique bibles and books in the library. Y... you come in and start to comment on the short nature of my skirt; scold me. Tell me how it’s unfair for me to be wearing it around men who have vowed chastity, it’s inconsiderate. An unfair temptation for me to be inflicting upon the holy men of the church...” 

Falling silent for a moment you listen to see if Father Colbert would like to comment. Perhaps tell you that that’s enough. He stays silent, doesn’t say a word. You can, however, hear his breathing, a little heavier than it was. And a slow, wet slicking noise. 

“Then you-you, uh… punish me– bend me over one of the tables, letting all of the sacred texts fall to the floor, pages getting bent, spines indented. But you don’t care. You spank me, tell me it’s what I deserve, what whores get for knowingly tempting priests. Once my bottom is sore and red, you give into temptation and… fuck me– right then and there. Telling me that it is all my fault that you have broken your vow to God.” 

“You touch yourself to these fantasies?” he asks. 

“Almost every night, Father”

Suddenly he leans forward. His free palm thudding flat up against the wall keeping you from him. Even after everything you’ve confessed you still can’t find it in yourself to be as shameless as he is being. You want to touch yourself so badly, you can’t sit still in your seat, but you can’t bring yourself to just slip your hand between your legs. 

Stephen grunts, slams his palm down on the wall, causing you to jump in your seat, startled.

“For your penance-” He sighs deeply, chuckles before being able to get his thoughts in order- “I want you to abstain from touching yourself ‘til the next time you come back to Confession, on your usual day of Worship. Be the last next time, understand?” 

“Yes, Father.”

“Good, now go– we won’t bother with Contrition; we both know you’re not sorry.”

Six days have never felt so long. Week after week you abstain, and every week you go back to confession. You never thought you’d look forward to church as much as you do now. Never thought that you’d see the day when it stopped becoming a moral obligation to attend and became more morally sound for you not to go. 

You have plenty of time to think during the six days that you keep your hands from yourself. To dream and fantasize, rather. The Father will want to hear more fantasies… confessions, and phew have you got a couple of good ones for him today. 

Admittedly, the first time you had come back you had an underlying fear that by the time you saw him again he would have changed his mind. Seen the error of his ways. Felt the weight of Catholic guilt, and decided against being the Priest in the confessional that day. But time after time that’s never the case. 

The fears were quickly washed away by not-so-fleeting glances during his homily. By the not-so-accidental glide of his fingertips along your hand as he handed you Communion. The way Stephen loomed over you, boring lust into you while you placed the wafer on your tongue and threw back the wine. 

Now you know the drill. Service is over and you just have to wait, sit and wait and wait while the people walk in and out of the confessional. 

Finally, it’s just you. Just you sitting in the empty church. Even the other Priests have left the altar, moved on with their day. 

The lead that first weighed down your legs has long since left, now continuously replaced by fuzz, full of tingles. Entering the confessional, before you can take a seat or even reach for the door, Father Colbert slides in the small space with you. Looks around momentarily and closes the door. 

“Uh- ah, Father? You’re on the wrong side.” 

He spins around smirking at your comment. Stephen’s presence is so close and so overwhelming, all of his height and bulk nearly taking up the entirety of the space. It’s impossible for you not to touch him, to feel the fabric of his cassock, the gentle body that hides underneath it. 

It only takes one step for him to have you backed up against the wall. Reaching out he flips up your skirt and shoves his hand into your underwear. Slips a couple of fingers in between your sopping slick folds. Stephen’s and is warm, calloused, makes you feel weak in the knees. Instantaneously you moan, his hand feels so good, already relieving some of the aches. 

“Shhh,” he coos. “Ever had this fantasy?” he asks, gesturing towards the general vicinity of the confessional. 

Quickly you search your mind and find that shockingly, no you haven’t. Shaking your head, you take your bottom lip in between your teeth in an effort to keep your mouth shut.

Though he has other plans for keeping you quiet; he kisses you fiercely, growling and pressing his tongue against your tightly closed lips. 

Stephen lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, lock-in and welcome his fingers inside of your body with a tight, wanting clench of your cunt. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue in as well, bucking your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers ‘til he’s cruel enough to take them away from you. 

In one swift motion, he sits down on the chair. Just as swiftly, you straddle his hips and grind. Fumble around with the buttons at the crotch of his cassock. Eager to get at what is creating such a delectably big bulge. 

You’ve wanted this for so long you’ve just got no more where-with-all to think about it. Taking his thick girth in your hand you pull it out and stroke fervently a few times before the Father lifts you up, using one hand gripping the side of your ass, and pulls your panties to the side with his other. You line up his cock with your slick entrance and Stephen lowers you down on it. 

The stretch and the burn feels so, fucking, good. So good it threatens to push a wail from deep within your belly, bating it back through clenched teeth and a death grip of the cloth of his chest. 

Stephen scoots forward in the chair, splays his legs for leverage. You let yourself sink down and down ‘til your flush with his lap, and full to the brim. A near uncomfortable pressure in your core, until he pulls you in again for a mouth consuming kiss and starts bucking up inside of you. 

As you feel his thick beard against your face, your thighs start to shake, the pressure and heat bringing on what feels like is going to be a body shattering orgasm. 

“Enjoying being Satan’s whore?” The Father asks in a gruff whisper against your agape mouth. 

Shaking your head, no, you chase his lip with a bite and say, “No- but I live to be yours.” 

The declaration gives him new gusto, enough fire in his gut to be brutal to the point of recklessness. Reckless because you’re so wet, and the faster he goes the more noise your bodies make. Risky because no matter how hard Stephen’s kissing you, or how you try to keep it down, the powerful orgasm spreading through your hips and belly just won’t allow for the silence. 

Even when the swell of it passes your pink can’t seem to stop fluttering around him. At least now you’re able to clamp your mouth shut, focus a little more on being quiet, and just let him use you to come to his own end as harshly as the good Father pleases. 

Suddenly he throws his head back. Rich, strong veins in his neck bulging, teeth bared as he stares not really at but somewhere beyond the ceiling. “God; fuck-” he says through a growl. Stephen’s cock expanding and spurting rich, white mess deep inside of your body. Gripping your ass so strongly you can already feel the bruises coming to the surface of the delicate skin. Chants of Father continue to escape your mouth. 

When he’s done cumming you’re both still panting, looking at each other with white-hot fever. Very slowly he lifts you up enough to slip his length out. Inch by inch making sure to readjust your underwear, keeping evidence from falling onto his deep black cassock. Instead, allowing it to seep out into your underwear where it is safe. Something for you to take home to remember him by. 

“Who knew your father raised such a good little girl,” he chuckled, readjusting himself back into his pants.

Neither of you is nearly close to tired or want to be done, but you’ve already pressed your good graces far enough, and six days really isn’t all that long.


End file.
